


a forest for the trees

by liminaloom



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liminaloom/pseuds/liminaloom
Summary: see a forest for the trees: Positive; to discern an overall pattern from a mass of detail; to see the big picture, or the broader, more general situation. Negative; to be overwhelmed by detail to the point where it obscures the overall situation. [source]Alternatively,Life is a fucking battlefield and love is the war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At first this was just going to be a pre-Kerb fic, but then it just kept going and going and turned into a fic where I dump a lot of ideas I'd like to explore in VLD. It has an interesting pace that I decided to just keep, so the flow might seem choppy. Mostly it's just a back and forth, very slow burn and deep search on Shiro and Keith's relationship and the parts they play in the bigger picture. Yes, Keitor will be a Thing later on but endgame is Sheith because I am the god of this world. :3c

The intangibility of fire was an understood. One could not touch the flames, but could feel their warmth. The sparks razed life and breathed destruction. It was true that fire could not be handled, but that heat, the danger-zone, was partnered with oxygen: a component breeding catastrophe unless withheld by some modicum of control.

Keith was like fire. The realization was a slow burn, fanned not to die out and perceived, irrevocably, as something beautifully dangerous. This Shiro knew, and this he also came to realize: the intangibility of fire was misunderstood. 

The first flicker caught in the Garrison, a chance encounter with a freshman on the run from his commanding officer for breaking into the training room past curfew. Shiro was making his dorm checks after a long evening of studying for the pilot licensing exams when Keith rounded the corner and barreled straight into him, bouncing back on agile feet and darting by with hardly a second glance. He heard the officer's threatening shrieks of expulsion farther down the hall. In a reflexive moment of fate Shiro spun on his heel and grabbed Keith by the arm, silencing his startled gasp with a hand clamped over his mouth. He yanked him into the nearby supply closet, quietly shutting the door just as the officer banked the corner and slid confused into the empty hall.

"You think you're smart, cadet? You think breaking the rules is gonna get you far? Face your fate like a man!"

Keith remained still in the cramped space, chest heaving where it was pressed against Shiro's. His eyes were focused on the door, listening intently as his pursuant's footsteps grew distant.

"I think you're safe now." Shiro's voice startled him, and he pushed free of his hold and out the door, bent over himself and catching his breath.

"I had a handle on it." Keith straightened his back, scowling.

Keith Kogane was one of those students rumors favored. He'd transferred to the Garrison months ago from an inner city lottery school and with a recommendation from a teacher--a retired military ground control commander--found his way here, in training on the pilot track. That was everyone's guess from gossip, at least.

He had a discipline issue. Bright, sure; talented, absolutely--but stubborn and impulsive were not qualities respected in a person expected to fly a ship into the void one day, and problems had arisen with a potential to flounder.

Shiro had never really had a look at Keith before. They'd passed each other in the halls a few times, maybe been in line together at the canteen. He had the natural grace of a gymnast and a spark in his eyes, rare in hue, that suggested passion and moxie. Smaller than Shiro had imagined, in those seconds he entertained his fellow classmates' chatter, but trim and able-bodied. He wore his uniform properly, though his hair was a close call past standard, and it was only because Shiro had a keen eye for observance that he noticed the very, very unregulatory knife hidden in Keith's boot.

The rumors weren't entirely unfounded, it seemed. But whether or not Keith was a hoodlum orphan or an arrogant brat, Shiro couldn't shake the feeling that he was just in need of validation. If anything was obvious, it was that he'd led a rough life--he was prepared for the worst, distrustful and wary like a wild animal one thought tamed when it was willing to be touched. There was no will there, not in Keith. He felt as if he'd saved a beast only to have it turn around and eat him for a snack. That's the look Keith had fixed him with, a split second of fury doused with desire and quickly put out into something less... provocative.

Shiro rolled with it; he was on the line now too. "You're welcome, cadet." He said, "And just how did you get into the senior dorms, anyway?"

Keith unpocketed a ring of keys, twirling it around his finger. "Can you keep a secret?"

"If you tell my why you're on the run."

"Haven't you heard? I'm the resident troublemaker apparently, and bending the rules to get some extra practice in is considered problematic." There it was again, a sliver of insecure expectation. "Is that a good enough reason for you, Sargent Takashi Shirogane?"

"You should head back. He'll be circling around soon." Shiro frowned. Keith's words didn't match his attitude, his poise was wracked with the unpleasant thrill of embarrassment. "And just Shiro is fine. If you know who I am," Ah, yes, the hitched shoulders suggesting he was aware of just how deep he was digging his grave. Shiro didn't want to threaten though, instead he'd extend a parley. "Then you know I'll be in just as much trouble if anyone finds out I helped you. I'll keep your secret."

Keith blinked at him, wide eyes narrowing into suspicion. "You're not going to report me?"

"Well, you're going to have to deal with this. But if you promise to step it up, I'll take your side." Shiro leaned against the wall. "And if you give me those keys."

"Uh," Keith handed the ring over, meeting Shiro's gaze. "Thanks."

In that moment Shiro knew he was done for.  


* * *

  
Lightning was the cause of 90% of fires. One matchbook scratch against dry, brittle wood and the forest was up in flames. It was a scaled accident blamed on nature and forgiven because of it. Dealt with, of course, through devastation or renewal. Crops could burn but the memory always remained, a feeling somewhat sentimental and frustratingly complex. 

Earning Keith's trust was no easy task. It wasn't until Shiro had been selected for the Kerberos mission and was training for the flight that he witnessed the reasoning behind why Keith was, well, the way he was.

Shiro had been trailing after professor Holt, the biophysicist elected for the mission, through the open-air passage overlooking the cadet defense training ground, when he was distracted.

Keith had his arms crossed, pulled aside, and was receiving quite the earful from his training officer.

"Take your position here more seriously. You have the potential to make a great pilot. One more demerit, Kogane. You mess this up again, you're out."

"But sir, I was only acting on the knowledge that we were on a life or death time limit--"

"You were only acting on the assumption that whatever idea in your head doesn't translate to what I asked of you." The officer snapped. "You follow the rules, you do what I say, you do not talk back. I don't care if it 'seemed like a good idea at the time'. Acting before thinking can get you killed in this field. Fall in line. Do you understand me, cadet?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good. Now again, and this time no funny business."

Every class had a stranger, the clown or the outcast who was a little different. Maybe a tad too wise, or a smidge too underwhelming. Keith was an exception to that rule. And while Shiro was a quick study, it was disgustingly apparent Keith was both the star pupil and the hated problem child. It was in his disposition. He was a stranger because he was, simply, strange.

Shiro had considered appealing for Keith but knew that would hurt his pride, effectively dismantling any trust he'd garnered. So he kept walking, and later that evening lent a shoulder for Keith to lean on, listening to his complaints. He thought that would be enough. He thought what they had was kindling: a possibility that maybe, just maybe, their lightning could strike the same place twice.  


* * *

  
He had yet to tell Keith he would be leaving soon. The volatile nature of such discourse would promise an end with no real beginning. He'd be gone for six months. By the time he returned Keith might be where he was now, readying to enterprise his own opportunity. The chance of never meeting again was a slim chasm that ran deep. If either of them fell there would be no promise of rescue. Shiro knew he was a fool, too self-possessed, to think he was Keith's only anchor. Acknowledging it left him uncomfortable and in doubt.

Who trusted who? Who relied on who?

They were in the courtyard wreckroom studying when Keith lost his composure. It was an old area neglected by the staff and overrun with palmy bushes, crawling vines inching their way up to the dusty glass roof. Not many students cared to be there as it was loud--too close to the runway--and small, with nothing comfortable and only a smattering of plastic tables and chairs.

Keith had just stood from his and kicked it across the room, scattering homework onto the floor in his outrage. "I've been trying at this damn equation for days! It's not right, Shiro! I'm telling you, there's no solution. It's like he's asking me for the fucking answer to gravity! I can't fucking do this."

Shiro knew the answer, and that it was a difficult problem used to test the mental acuity of students being primed for special classes. He'd been given the same question himself his first year and also pushed to his wit's end to solve it.

"Calm down, Keith." Shiro stooped to gather the fallen papers, skimming the chicken scratch math to find his error. The math was simple--and that was the trick. It suggested a complex approach and needed only meditation and understanding. 

"It's impossible." Keith was salty, arms crossed and indignant about the whole ordeal. Endearing, almost, if one knew him well enough to read the signs.

"Take a breather, then." Shiro set the equation aside. "Patience yields focus. Don't let the process get the best of you. Consider the question the answer might be attached to."

Keith closed his eyes, struggling to reign in his temper. He took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Repeated Shiro's words. "Patience yields focus."

He sat down and turned the pages over, starting from scratch. Twenty minutes of determined silence pierced only by pencil on paper and Keith had solved the problem.

Of course, instead of being happy he cursed and grumbled about how he'd been conned, only lapsing into relieved laughter when Shiro explained how he also once faced this behemoth and defeating it had proven more than worth it.

Then he told Keith why, and what it meant, and where it led him to today--where he was, and where he was going. There was never going to be good timing.

Keith was quiet in the wake of his confession, shoulders dropping and body turning introverted in the matter of seconds. "I know," he said, "I've been waiting for you to tell me."

Shiro couldn't explain the ice cast over his voice or the way it burned hotter than fire. "I'm--I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Keith clutched his homework in his gloved hands, wrinkled with the force of his grip. "When do you leave?"

"Two weeks." It was emptiness. The dawning understanding, the chill of an early morning and the warmth of the rising sun peaking over the horizon. Not to be addressed and certainly secondhand, subconscious, taken for granted.

"I'm proud of you." Keith didn't look at him. Maybe he couldn't, maybe he didn't want to. "And a little jealous." His tone shook just enough to betray the joke, "Be careful up there, okay?"

Shiro sighed, dragging Keith into a hug, tousling his hair just to lighten the mood and glad when it had Keith reaching around to pound on his back in annoyance. "I promise."

It was the last time they properly spoke. Shiro became entangled with test runs and pre-flight checklistings while Keith piloted a jet for the first time, passed his exam with near perfect marks, and stood exalted and despised among his peers as a genius--carrying the price paid for earning such a title. 

He knew Keith was there amidst the ogling crowd when his crew made their walk across the launch pad bridge and into the shuttle. He could feel the burn of his stare, intense as always when it met its mark. The day Shiro had promised Keith he had also promised himself: he was leaving not just him behind but the entire world. Earth would soon be a speck in his eyes, a star amongst billions of others, and his focus could not remain on its ground.

So while he initiated the computers and settled for countdown, he bid farewell to those thoughts. And he knew that when the rockets fired against gravity and launched Keith would do the same, standing in salute with the rest of the Garrison. 

"I have something to tell you when you come back."

"I look forward to hearing it."  


* * *

  
Heat rose in a frozen sky. Space was a void, deprived of oxygen and empty of warmth. It was unlike the known reality of earth, a tiny speck of sand in an infinite universe. Out there, anything could happen. Technology could only account for so much. Keith knew making promises before exiting the planet was considered an unspoken forbidden, yet he made Shiro do it anyway.

The day Keith checked out was the day the news cast its vindication on the missing Kerberos crew, citing them as MIA, most likely dead. He didn't give himself time to mourn. The executive chief refused to budge on the universal announcement that the mission had failed, that Shiro had fucked up somehow. Keith didn't want to believe it, so he ignored it. He left, perturbed, but he couldn't lay the credit on Shiro alone. 

He'd been having quakes--the only way he could describe it--followed by visions, waking dreams, pointing him to a power source outside the Garrison and unknown, undetected by anyone within the facility. It was haunting, a whisper of foretelling, and when insomnia struck him for nights on end he'd had enough. He resigned, stole a hov-bike in the dark of the witching hour, and vanished from civilization.

Sometimes he'd think back to the short time he spent in the Garrison, how it both ruined and perfected him. When the year had passed, he raised a cairn in memory of Shiro and wrote the sky out of his mind. Now he was grounded, consumed by an anomaly, and all he could do was focus on the obsession. Keith fanned the flames until it brought him from depression into a hardwired understanding that there was something bigger out there, beckoning him, and it was about to happen in real time. So he prepared. And he held on to the only thing he'd allowed himself to keep of his short-lived youth.

_Patience yields focus._


	2. Chapter 2

When the aliens came, he cursed his first thought for being of Keith. Only later would he realize that it was a poignant indication, a premonition, and a warning. In the moments of consciousness not spent fighting for his life in the ring, he'd dream of a present where he was home and unbroken. That promise he ruefully made he now knew he couldn't keep.

The escape left him rattled, the capture of his own people unwilling to listen to his frantic, insane claims. There wasn't time. It was happening now. Whatever this weapon hiding in the dirt was, and how it had remained undiscovered for thousands of years, and why he was pushed into an intergalactic resistance--none of that mattered. He was beyond himself when the sedatives set in, unable to give up, always.

Spears of electricity flashed behind his eyelids, ice hot and bright as the sun. When he opened them again, a momentary acceptance overcame him. He hadn't rested on something so soft in ages. 

A shadow cast over him.

"Shiro."

In spite of himself and the trauma running deep in his veins he smiled, relieved. "I've missed your voice, Keith."

He was given a moment to gather himself, glimpsed fright when he'd gripped Keith's arm with his cybernetic hand, regret lining confusion. Hidden behind those violet eyes was a warmth reviving. He'd missed Keith, who'd grown a little since their last meeting. His voice was the same though, if huskier. 

"Good to have you back."

There was a word for what he saw in Keith, silhouetted as they they were on the precipice of a sunset he had always taken for granted. The same word he'd use to describe it, if they ever had a chance to view it again. "It's good to be back."  


* * *

  
Getting into the mind of another was never an easy feat. Understanding went so far, relating maybe farther, empathy to the end of its grip. But no matter how hard he tried to be someone else, it was impossible. 

Keith's admiration for Shiro was a distance he couldn't travel. He'd never live up to who Shiro was, so whenever Shiro told him to take his place if he were to disappear again, to die, to go forever this time, it left him riled in a pit of despair fencing off shadows to keep his heart from tempering.

He kept that to himself, of course, never realizing that Shiro was trying just as hard to find a middle ground. They were available for one another but never let their guards down; naturally and comfortably. It was just how things were. It was normal.

Keith never had to second guess his choice. Shiro, whether he wanted to or not, didn't have one. Team Voltron was pieced together by fate, it seemed, the same fate he damned and loved simultaneously.

It was the increasingly rare quiet moments in long-gate wormholes or recharge days when something with the ancient ship went wrong that lent them time to just be around each other. They both appreciated company without the need to entertain and would lounge around in one or the other's room or the Woo-Woo Pod as Pidge named it, which was just a round, empty bubble full of cushions and a giant view of the void. 

It was one of those moments in the Woo-Woo Pod when Shiro was consumed by his obsessive need to keep perfect records and was busy typing it up on an Altean tablet--relaxing enough for him, Keith supposed. He was reading a book they'd picked up from an alien recovery. It translated itself for the viewers eyes and told the universal tale of the hero's journey. Something they were all living every day.

Shiro cursed under his breath, startling Keith to lift his gaze from the novel.

"It's just," he started, already cognizant of Keith's attention, "When I do this sometimes it strikes me the extent of what everyone's been through."

"Well," Keith let his book slide into his lap and turned his neck to gaze out into the rapidly advancing cosmos. "I wouldn't exactly say I'm used to it, or that I don't sleep well most of the time, but I'm also kinda okay with it, I guess? I think that's where most of us are, but I dunno."

"Yeah." Shiro sighed, stretching his arms above him. "But listen, it's about quintessence..."

Keith always felt honored that Shiro trusted him enough and believed in him enough to share his worries with him, even if they were complicated spins on theoretical ideas he groomed with Coran and Allura during mission preparation.

"The Galra are refining it to more and more perfectly purified forms. It's giving them some sort of power, maybe that's how they're tracking us. Some sort of connection through energy."

Keith found himself without an answer. He couldn't say it wasn't him they were tracking the castle through. Guilt squirmed in his gut. "That... makes sense."

"Sorry." Shiro stood from his mountain of pillows and came to take a look outside from Keith's perspective, resting an arm on his shoulder to get a better view. "It's overwhelming sometimes, isn't it?"

Keith knew what he was referring to and how much Shiro had no idea. He sighed, dipping his shoulder down to throw Shiro off balance and chuckling at his slip in posture as he caught himself and stood, bewildered. "Wouldn't be fun otherwise."

Now would be the chance to take it and try, if now had ever been a chance not ruined by marginal unknowns, doubts twisting into nightmares. Shiro pulled him up by the arm and into a loose grapple, daring him to pry himself free. He could if he wanted to start an impromptu sparring match, which was common between them, but this time something possessed him to just relax in Shiro's hold, leaning against his chest. 

"You okay?" Shiro asked, instead of questioning Keith's strange lack of retaliation. He just let Keith be, able to escape but also safe where he was.

How many times had Shiro asked him that lately? How many more times until he had to tell the truth? "I'm okay. You?"

Shiro caved and hugged Keith, lifting him off his feet and tossing him onto the cushions. "I'm alive."

Keith laughed from his spot, "That's a good way of putting it." He didn't expect--but he should've--Shiro to sit beside him and lean, cybernetic arm propped across his chest, a breath's width away from kissing him when the castle shuddered and the warp alarm rang to signal they'd reached their destination. 

Shiro dropped his forehead onto Keith's shoulder with a sigh and offered him a hand up. If he was embarrassed it only resounded in his voice. "Break's over I guess."

Keith would secondguess that span of thrilling seconds for days until it was practically meaningless. Shiro's behavior never changed, nor his attitude, nor disposition. If it had happened it was a hiccup in space-time and Keith had probably dozed off amidst Shiro's quintessence rant. 

Expectations did funny things in space. Keith had found his resolve to leave and found himself going with Allura. It wasn't exactly a bad idea, even when they were floating aimlessly in another moment of life or death. Maybe he saw something he shouldn't have, a brief glimpse of a possible future.

It was a crash course into chaos, but for some reason it excited him.

"I know you're gonna do what you feel like you have to." Shiro was reprimanding him, pacing back and forth with his arms on his hips as Keith sat, chastised, in the chair Shiro had guided him to. Lance had jeered that he was in trouble. "But please, at least give me a head's up."

"I trust you, you know that." Keith crossed his legs. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do." That made Shiro halt, turning to face him. "You're good at thinking of the bigger picture and doing what needs to be done. I just wish... you'd rely on me more."

Keith shot to his feet, but his heart sunk to them. "For what?" He quipped, unable to stop himself. "I do what I can to take the burden off you, even if just a bit. I can manage on my own, I always have."

"This is us, as a team--"

"No it isn't." Keith was not about to let Shiro deflect. Not this time. "I can never live up to you, Shiro, I can't be you. I don't want to. But I won't let you down--I mean, what I mean is--"

Shiro stopped him, cupping his face between his hands and forcing Keith to meet his gaze. "You'll never be me, that's true." He didn't let Keith pull away. "But you can be better."

"You don't get it." Keith thumped his forehead against Shiro's chest, a few times for good measure. "I hate all this talk about replacing you. You have no faith that you're going to make it out of this. It's not fair to me--to the rest of us. You might hide it from them, but I know you."

"I wouldn't say that's..." Shiro closed his eyes, pushing Keith from his lean against him. "Keith, why do you think the Galra are tracking us through you?"

It stung, that searching realization in Shiro's eyes. That subconscious knowing that Keith was evading a subject far more concerning to him than the admiration he held for Shiro. This man was prudent, always had been, and a little to keen for his own good.

Shiro didn't push him, but disappointment had him backing away. No, it was something else. "I'm here now, aren't I? And so are you. Let's make the most of that, okay?"

He almost said it. He was so close. Instead he made a wan smile and played along. "Yes, sir."

They were en route to the Blade of Marmora headquarters. The truth was coming soon enough. As much as Keith vexed over it, he already knew the conclusion. It was a force unreckonable, resiliently keeping the fabric of the universe together.

It still wouldn't be enough.  


* * *

  
Keith pushed his weight off of Shiro's reliance, gripping at his shoulder. The wet sponge of blood and severed flesh pressed against this fingers, enough to make the sweat in his gloves feel sticky and to make his head sick. 

"Don't touch me." It wasn't out of rejection. Maybe fear, pounding through his veins as the knowledge he'd always had and the absent weight of the blade he sought evidence from crashed around him. Thundering. He was Galra.

Shiro was the kind of man raised with respect. He was made of it. But in this moment he ignored Keith's wish and pulled his arm back over his, all but lifting Keith off his feet and carrying him into the lift. "They're lending us a recovery unit." He kept their focus on the immediate, something Keith was having trouble doing. "You got banged up pretty bad. They're not as advanced as the Altean healing pods, surprisingly, but it'll patch you up..."

The distraction was working. Keith huffed out a laugh. It took all his effort to keep his vision straight. He'd fought Galra fleets and thwarted enemy sentries single-handedly. He attacked Zarkon point blank and fought a druid refining quintessence. He could handle this, right? "Will it leave a scar?" Maybe he was delirious. "Like yours?"

"It might." Shiro's grip around his torso tightened, yet remained perfectly careful of his injured shoulder.

"That would be nice." Definitely losing it, a lot and quickly. "I'll be more like you."

"Keith, stay with me." The lift slid to a halt, opening to the medical bay. He scooped Keith up entirely, settling him onto the trolley with the assistance of a silent Blade member, there but not really like the expanse of their connection.

"Might have a concussion. You're kinda blurry." Keith replied as the glass encased him and gas filled the tank.

"Its okay to sleep now." Shiro told him, voice warped from beyond. Keith slipped out of consciousness wondering just what had changed, and if it ever really stopped.

Did it change anything at all?

He'd been alone most of his life. A mother he never knew, a father who left when he was six, a life in and out of foster-care and school districts. There was one thing that never really changed. The night sky, clear and moonless, when even the smallest, most distant stars were visible. That was his escape, his solitude. Keith knew it like an old friend, a familiar closeness that would never disappear.

He did well in school, because if he didn't he'd be on the streets without support. He learned how to survive on his own in a dog eat dog world, where the forgotten children were left to the system and dumped in inner city dorms. He fought his way up to make a place for himself. When he was given the chance to join the Galaxy Garrison, he took it without second thought.

Keith hadn't always believed in fate. Maybe he still didn't. But he couldn't deny those crisp, lonely nights he spent on the highest rooftop he could find, inevitably drawn to a force he couldn't understand. It was like gravity, a steady pull in the right direction.

He felt like he might have found it with Shiro. But it didn't stop after he was gone, it didn't stop when they found the blue lion, it didn't stop when they became the universe's only hope, it didn't stop in the wake of the trials, it didn't stop now. Not ever. 

He was humbled. How had his life led to this? What made him so deserving? How could chance, mere coincidence, explain any of it? The scariest part of all, where was it going?

_What was happening to him?_

Keith woke gasping for air. He was in his paladin armor, resting on a spartan bed. As his mind collected itself the dark, purple hues threw him into alert and he lept up, reaching for his knife. Someone was coming forward and the knife transformed into a blade in his hands. He dropped it, stung.

"Calm down, it's just me." Shiro gently maneuvered him to sit, and he swooped down to retrieve his the fallen weapon. "You okay?"

"Side effects from the recovery, maybe." Keith took the blade. He was fine. Resolved. For now.

"Our departure window is good to go. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The flight once tricky paved a simple path home, to the castle and the revelation that Keith was part Galra. Shiro had left him the opportunity to keep silent about it, but opened up his report to give him the chance. He should, Shiro seemed to say, trust them.

A ticking started in the back of his head then, counting something. He couldn't tell if it was up or down. It became a constant reminder tapping on his shoulder, now sporting a scar. A whisper to look behind him, a trick to turn his focus away. He felt that at any moment he let his control slip a little, a lot would change. But it wouldn't stop.

Not ever.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't as tender as it should have been. They didn't have the time. A dance with death one too many and time became a precious myth wished for in dreams. That's why this could have been a dream and it was better that way, because there was no time.

Shiro had a hold of his head, cold fingers wound into his hair but not grabbing, not yet, as if he was trying to keep Keith at an arm's length half-heartedly. Then they were kissing, stuck in the third airlock and waiting for gravity to cancel and for the slightest chance Coran failed to fix it before the oxygen flush out in about forty-seven seconds.

Gravity went, as predicted, and Keith wound a leg around Shiro's, already pulled to him by a hand against his back. Their helmets became forgotten, floating about them. It wasn't enough. Shiro bit down on his bottom lip, dragging a ting of pain, and Keith responded, opening his mouth for a deeper connection. Searching for more.

Abruptly cut off, they were tumbling back to ground zero and the inner airlock doors unhinged, sliding open to worried teammates and Lance saying, "Are you crazy? Why'd you take your helmets off?"

Shiro cleared his throat, getting to his feet as Keith did the same. He was flustered. "This happens all the time." Keith sighed, picking up his helmet.

Allura spoke through the castle com from the bridge. "Anyone who needs healing, get to the pods. Rest there. We're six dobacshes away from Skilope."

See? Never enough time.  


* * *

  
They didn't talk about it. If there was a chance, it usually interrupted by cusiouser and curiouser events. Keith no longer knew if he wanted to be Shiro, to be with him, or just wanted him, or a steady mix of the three that was everything less than healthy. He could try to get into Shiro's headspace, find a trauma they both shared now, and an unsteady acceptance built on that endless, subservient force.

Here and there lingering touches. A glance full of meaning cast a second to long or cut off a moment to short. Was it out of necessity? Desperation? Any number of things leading them in a dangerous dance?

Shiro thought he knew how to play with fire. Carefully, gently, and without fear. None of that belonged to him. The unpredictability of flames was carefree, cruel, and terrifying. 

He could see it in Keith. The doubt growling around in his head, his always flighty movement, ready to act at any time. He was wary of himself, tired under the skin and to the bone, and inescapably incapable of giving up. Or giving in.

What Shiro realized too little too late was that Keith was a walking time bomb and the signs of his explosion were ticking quickly into destruction. 

The first notice was in the bathroom. A bloodied rag stuck in the shoot and wrapped up in panicked shame. It was a silent moment of great disturbing, continued when he caught Keith wrapping his arms in fresh gauze after a secretive bout in the chrio-chambers late in the sleep cycle. He would check in the mirror for signs of it on his face, maybe fan his hair carefully over the tips of his ears. If his gaze caught in the dark and shone with a feline glow, he'd dismiss it as exhaustion and watery eyes from lack of sleep.

The blade had awakened something in him. Something he couldn't fight off, nor flee from--which for Keith was probably a first. He replaced his fingerless gloves subtly, but when Shiro knew to pay attention he saw the sharp of claws beneath the leather. 

Keith caught him quickly enough. Shiro had timed the sleep cycle to his healing escapades after a quiet agony in the bathroom, scraping away evidence of his alien breed. He wasn't upset, wasn't surprised.

Shiro had never seen Keith behave this way, not even in their Garrison days when he'd struck out after a downtown street fight on holiday and come to Shiro's dorm with bloody knuckles and a whopping shiner. It had been near impossible to convince him it wasn't the end of his hard work, wasn't the last leg on the road; that Shiro had his back and Keith was only defending himself. Keith hadn't wept then but his eyes were misty with the despair of eminent expulsion. His demerits were already at a record high and he'd told Shiro over and over, hugging his arms to himself, that never had he regretted his actions so much.

In retrospect, that peak was a low in comparison to their daily routine fighting in the void of space in giant metallic lions and risking their lives on alien planets to save the afflicted. And right now it was monumentally asinine. Keith was curled into himself where he'd sunk down to the floor against the chriopod, nails sharp as knives digging into the shadowed skin of his biceps and legs drawn to his chest to bar himself from the surrounding, unchanging castle hurtling through space.

Shiro prized his ability to find the right thing to say when it was most necessary. His own experiences gave him that much to work with. When Keith underwent the Marmoran trials and discovered his Galran heritage it had been taken in faltering stride and discarded for more important problems. Keith being who he was did not make issue of it--not publicly at least--and continued to perform admirably. Shiro had told him only this: "It doesn't change who you are. It doesn't change what I think of you and you shouldn't let it change how you think of yourself."

Keith had given him that awkward smile saved for him alone, a gesture of trust and understood good intentions. Shiro both adored and detested that smile. It meant nothing but a hollow appreciation of sentiment before Keith shouldered the heavy baggage to carry on his own.

Now Shiro understood how cruel his words had been. Change was as inevitable as a supernova's collapse into a ravenous black hole: it would eat the light of time endlessly, never sated, never fulfilled.

He knelt beside Keith, who spoke down at his booted feet on a harsh exhale that wracked through the tension in his frame. "It's getting worse."

"Can I see?" Shiro made no move to intrude on Keith's personal space, waiting for permission.

Keith finally lifted his head, dark bruises under his eyes betraying the steel grit of his jaw. He unwound from the knot he'd made of himself, turning his arms up where they rested stiffly on his lap. Splotches of mottled lavender covered the limbs, irritated from scratching away old skin where it continued to peel and fray. Shiro sucked in the smallest of breaths when Keith lifted his shirt. It was worse along the planes of his stomach, like flesh-eating leprosy crawling lazy vines to meet lightning strikes. Gingerly, Shiro reached out to touch Keith, hesitating long enough for a denial. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Keith still flinched when Shiro's fingertips brushed against the fresh, sensitive skin. A sensation similar to peach fuzz but more smooth and durable. The old felt rough and sunburnt, dandruffy flakes casting off at the slightest touch. "It itches a lot, especially under the armor." Keith's body was on fire, a cold sheen of sweat prickling when Shiro moved his attention to the patches on his forearms. "Most of the time just feels feverish, like I've got the flu."

Shiro's eyes snapped to Keith's, who was just watching his hands smooth over his broken flesh with an empty curl of lips. "How long has this been going on?" Of all things, that made Keith retreat, but Shiro caught his wrist and held on despite the hiss it drew from him. He saw the glint of claws in the dimmed castle lighting and turned Keith's hand. Longer than human standards, thicker, sharp, and glazed the same color splashing his body. No wonder he'd been wearing full-fingered gloves for weeks.

Weeks. It was a belated realization. How long had Keith been enduring such violent physical shifts? This whole time still fighting and risking and pushing on without complaint, without a single sign he'd been dealing with discomfort and sickness alone?

"They were worse." It shattered Shiro's heart a little at Keith's firm resolve, tapping his nails against the clean flesh of Shiro's entirely human palm to demonstrate their edge. "It was roughly one a day, my nail would fester and bleed until I ripped it off on accident or otherwise. It took awhile for the new ones to fill in, but not long enough I couldn't feel every nerve screaming on overdrive." He huffed out a tired, self-deprecating laugh. "It hurt like hell."

Shiro closed his palm over Keith's, careful of the pressure between them. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Keith flicked his gaze to Shiro's and back down to their linked hands, unnerved by the emotion Shiro had trouble hiding. He was angry--at Keith for keeping such a dangerous secret and at himself for being oblivious to it. He was mortified and guilty because Keith probably felt it so much worse. "You've got enough on your plate already."

It sounded a little more like the Keith Shiro was used to. He lapsed into their usual rapport. "I know a weak excuse when I see one, Keith." He let himself drop to a sit from his kneel, down for the long haul. "We all have a lot to deal with. We're a team for a reason, so we can handle these burdens together. I understand not wanting the others to know, but I wish you could have confided in me earlier."

Keith refused to meet his gaze, head cast aside to glare at the control panel looming dead center of the circling chriopods. "You know I trust you." It was a disclaimer for what he was about to say. A flash of teeth distracted Shiro, who reached unthinkingly to press his thumb to the corner of Keith's mouth. His startled motion revealed pointed incisors jutting from his upper lip. Keith scowled, not even trying to hide them. Fangs. So he'd lost teeth in the same agonizing manner, Shiro assumed. "I'm telling you, I have it under control. It's nothing I can't handle."

"Keith," Shiro kept his hand on Keith's face, sliding over sharp cheekbones to rest there. "This isn't something you can control. And you can't keep it a secret for much longer."

Keith knew. It shone in the violet of his irises, dull from disenchantment but ringed in sparkling gold. He leaned into Shiro's touch despite himself, the collar of his shirt revealing that the blight had spread up to his neck. Sooner than later, then. "I don't think it's just my body changing."

The admission sat in Shiro's gut like lead. He let his hand fall back into his lap, and Keith tapped his head against the chriopod. "What do you mean?"

"I don't really know." Keith squinted up at the high, architecturally magnificent scaffolds of the ceiling. "But if it turns out to be bad..."

"It won't." Shiro wanted to believe it more than Keith, who tilted his head to tick a brow in his direction. "We'll work through this and you'll be fine. More Galra, maybe, but I've never known anyone as adaptable as you."

Then came the wet sheen casing Keith's eyes, something he'd been holding in tight swallows and clenched teeth. "I'm afraid." He sputtered out a twisted chuckle, lifting his arms to stare at them in disgust. Fear wasn't something Keith did, but Shiro could see it in the shake of his limbs. "When it gets to my head, who knows what will happen. Will my ears fall off? Will I go blind? Where does it stop? Will it kill me?" His breath became rapid, searing pain taught in his throat to keep from sobbing. "I can feel my guts reorganizing when I try to sleep. I think I've got two hearts. My blood is turning silver. It's like poison, Shiro." The way Keith said his name was desperate and weak. "I can't describe it. I don't know what to do. What is the point in telling anyone? There's nothing you can do either."

Shiro tugged Keith into an embrace, pulling him to his chest and holding on. "I can listen and I can be here." He said, and he felt the warmth of tears dampening his shoulder. Keith shuddered against him, unused to the strength in his nails as they dug red lines through the fabric of his shirt onto his chest. Shiro let him cry with the dignity of silence until the well ran dry. Keith sighed where he'd relaxed against Shiro's frame and for the first time since they'd been reunited his guard fell down completely. It took Shiro a couple minutes to realize that Keith had fallen asleep; the rise and fall of his chest evened out. He was careful when he arranged Keith into his arms and stood, carrying him back to his room. The purple spreading across his neck looked like fading bruises, relentless in their promise of pain.

Shiro sat on the edge of Keith's bed and watched him sleep for awhile, hands steepled in his lap. Occasionally Keith's brow would furrow and he'd turn or gnash his teeth before evening out again. It was a fitful rest. There were bloodstains on his sheets and scratch marks on the metal frame. Handling this, as Keith had claimed, was more fight than acceptance.

As the night replayed in his mind, Shiro began to recognize that he had very few choices. In the morning he'd have to convince Keith to tell at least Allura and Coran. They might be able to--Shiro stood and went to his room, an undirectable rage singing along his spine. Maybe they could ease the transition, stop the pain, explain what was happening. Anything would do. But the fact was that Keith was changing and Shiro was a fool to think he was a kind man. He could do nothing but stand aside and watch and wait and hope that whatever fear keeping Keith from himself was founded in the unlikely notion that Galra blood meant Galra mind; and that Galra mind wasn't dominated by base emotions, wasn't a caper into inscrutable perspective. 

\-- Wasn't a change that would rip him apart from the inside and away from Voltron--away from him.

He knew that Keith's instincts were almost always on the mark. It wasn't so unfounded as he wished. The timer was ticking down at a steady pace, up to an imminent crash and burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a Galran shift or transformation that wasn't quick or painless... I signed up for a difficult job lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the medical stuff, I tried. XD

Shiro woke to screaming. He jumped from his bed and into the hall, darting to the source. The other paladins were on alert as well, heads peaking out in concern as they rushed over.

Keith had gone silent behind his door. "Lance, go wake Allura and Coran. Pidge, get to the medbay and prep a pod. Hunk, I need you to grab me a doper stat."

"What's going on?" Pidge spoke for all of them.

"Just go!" Shiro didn't mean to snap, but they dispersed into immediate task at the serious nature of his command. He overrode the door-lock and stepped inside Keith's room.

He was knelt on the floor, one clawed hand grasping the edge of his sink and the other clutching his stomach. Mercurial vomit mixed with blood swirled down the drain over the rush of water as he gasped for air and seized. Shiro dropped to his knees, easing Keith onto his back. He froze for a moment, irises darting in yellowed scleras to focus on something he couldn't see.

"Its okay," Shiro held him still. "It's just me."

Wherever Keith was, it wasn't in the present reality. He couldn't speak when he couldn't breathe and his muscles tensed and relaxed in response to the excruciating electric shocks his own body fed him.

Hunk returned with the syringe, sliding through the door with wide-eyed disbelief. Shiro took the needle and uncapped it with his teeth, stabbing it into Keith's thigh and pressing the Altean dopamine into his veins. Immediately Keith went listless, eyes lulling back with the heady intake of oxygen igniting his insides.

"What's happening?" Hunk wrung his hands, panic in his voice as Shiro scooped Keith into his arms and bee-lined for the healing chamber. 

"Not now, Hunk."

The yellow paladin shimmied after him, eyeing the splotchy lilac scraping from under dead skin and the way Keith moaned quietly, jostled by Shiro's quick pace, with his eyes screwed up and lashes clumped with salty tears. "Is he gonna be okay?"

" _Not now, Hunk_." Shiro gruffly repeated. When he entered the chamber Pidge had the chriopod open and steaming in wait. He placed Keith into it and jammed the button to close, tapping his foot irritably as the dome rose up and the pod went vertical. 

Lance burst in from the opposite entrance with Allura and Coran on his tail. The princess took one gander at the situation and drew her hair up, taking the stairs two at a time. "Brief me."

Shiro crossed his arms as all five of his conscious teammates faced him; each one sporting an overcast anxiety. The simpler the better, so he didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Keith's turning Galra. It's been happening for awhile now."

Lance's eyebrows shot to his crown. "Whoa man, why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't know until last night." Shiro angled himself to peer in the pod. The creases in Keith's face had eased exponentially, but his vitals were terrifyingly uneven. "Allura, can you cross reference Galran and human anatomy?"

She was already at the control panel, summoning up his request. Two renditions of the species, oddly similar to Leonardo da Vinci's work, shimmered into existence. Allura swept her hands apart, pulling the inner systems into several stacked charts. Without being prompted she drew up Keith's between the diagrams. "Two ticks later and Keith would be dead." Compared to human biology it was a wreck; compared to Galran it wasn't much better, but appeared more sensical.

Pidge adjusted her glasses and approached the holograms for a closer look. "That's some bad colic."

"It's much worse than it appears, I'm afraid." Coran stepped in to explain away the confusion of the majority. "I've done some studying of the human body on my free time, and if what I'm seeing is correct," He pointed to the human spleen, "This is entirely foreign to the Galra. As well as the kidneys, of which they have one organ with a similar purpose. It also acts as the liver; a synchronicity evolved over time. We Alteans have something similar called the throgat."

"I know this is a situation," Hunk was trying not to vomit, "But are you saying the same organ that creates piss also filters toxins out of your body."

"It's just as weird to us that you have two dedicated organs for making said urine." Coran smoothed over and continued, identifying each measure on the two diagrams as he talked. "A much smaller stomach. Two hearts and twice as intricate a circulatory system. The nervous, however, is almost identical to the human's, and to the Altean's. From the readings here," he tapped Keith's schematic, "His muscular integrity is also shifting, causing rips and tears." They could see those without Coran pointing them out. "The Galra are stronger and more resilient than a human. Their genetic makeup is founded on magnificent circulation and incredible dexterity."

"Please translate that." Lance blinked at the mess of diagrams hovering about them.

Coran sighed. "Keith's immune system is trying to purge obsolete organs and it's making him septic. Down to his very genetic code, the part of his DNA that is human might be too weak to handle it."

Hunk held a hand over his mouth to keep the bile in his stomach from rising. Pidge had mirrored Shiro, arms crossed. Lance was dragging his hands through his hair.

"Is there any way to reverse it?" When Shiro asked all eyes turned on him once again.

Allura cast hers downtrodden. "While it's true we have advanced healing technology, it does not cover the nature of this... issue. He will require surgery."

"And then what?" Pidge knew it didn't end there.

Allura finally locked her gaze with Shiro. "It will be a risky procedure. There is high chance he might die on the table. But if we do nothing, he'll die anyway."

"Fuck." Lance spoke for all of them. "Is there any other option?"

"Keith reacted to purified quintessence before, didn't he?" Pidge was frowning fiercely, mind on overdrive. "We could return to that universal station and steal some. Might help, right?"

Coran hummed. "There is a potential. Quintessence itself is the energy of life. I can't imagine what its refined form might be capable of."

"It might aid the transition. I should be able to synthesize some sort of anecdote to support the changes." Allura minimized the diagrams and drew up a plethora of Altean texts in their place. "All of my father's alchemic research has been logged here. I've heard of a quintessence elixir used to abate cancerous tumors."

"Alteans can get cancer?" Hunk guffawed, very helpfully.

Shiro contemplated their suggestion. "It's a long shot, but it might work. Allura, how much time do we have?"

"So long as he stays in stasis, he'll be stable. What worries me is not having a red paladin should we be attacked."

"We'll have to act fast. Princess, set a course for the station."

She went with Coran at her side, planning on his tablet, to pilot the castle. The three remaining paladins left to gear up. Shiro hesitated at the pod, watching the stillness so similar to death in Keith. He was not breathing. Every aspect of his being had been put on indefinite pause. He rested his hand against the glass. "We'll get you fixed up." Shiro promised, palm balling into a fist. "You'll bounce back better than ever."

* * *

"We'll use the same M.O. to enter unseen. This time we will have to engage the druids. Hunk, Lance, I want you on defense as Pidge and I load up the green lion. She'll be on standby should you need assistance."

Pidge flew in camouflage to the edge of the asteroid where the base sat. They dropped an egg-drone in to scan the premises. "Definitely still a refinery." Pidge muttered, reading the diverse screens popping up around her panel. "There's a backdoor under the station. I can drop you two there before Shiro and I break through the front."

"Signal us when you're in position." Shiro instructed as Pidge guided the green lion to the asteroid's underbelly and found the exit.

"This is a garbage dump! Gross!" Though Lance complained, he and Hunk raised their helmets and jettisoned to the steel doors. Thumbs up after Hunk lasered a hole and they tumbled in. 

"Getting visual." Pidge pulled up the link on Hunk's visor. 

"All right," Shiro stood from his lean over her seat. "Let's do this."

It was easier than their first infiltration of the docks; despite two druids being present. Lance and Hunk overhauled the dump in a stroke of genius while Pidge directed Shiro to the packaged quintessence. They made off with a full crate of it--probably overkill--and warped out of the district without hesitation, leaving the mess behind.

Allura was strewn on the floor with actual textbooks opened in a half moon about her, a tablet in her hand, and complex mathematical magicks dancing around her head like a halo.

"I think I've got something." She didn't give the paladins even a moment to catch their breath, baited as it was. "Did you succeed?"

"We snagged a whole box of it." Hunk was beaming.

"Excellent. Good work." She allowed a strained smile to placate the firm line of her lips. "You three get some rest. It is well deserved. Shiro, come with me to the medbay."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Pidge queried. "Even holding scalpels or wiping sweat off a brow."

"The best thing you can do is hope." Allura took Shiro by the arm, guiding him into the hall. "I know you're worried, but a crowd will only make matters more complicated."

Lance sighed, sitting on his helmet. "Like any of us are gonna be able to sleep through this."

Shiro turned to them. "I'll send an alert when it's done."

Hunk saluted, watery at the eyes, while Lance and Pidge just watched him and the princess disappear beyond the sliding doors with wan apprehension.

Coran was in the medical room where he'd transferred Keith to the operation table. A strangely archaic mask rested across the bridge of his nose, pushing oxygen into his lungs. From the looks of it--and the Altean medical apparatus was sparse in comparison to home--Keith was wired into a life support machine controlling his breathing and heartbeats. Two lines of weak vitals pulsed on a holographic screen as Coran snapped gloves over his hands. On a disinfected tray beside him lay the tools of the trade. Shiro didn't recognize any of them. An orb that pulsed, a flat plane of sheet metal, and some sort of pen.

Allura had explained the procedure on the way. "We'll administer the anecdote directly." She'd told him, lifting her hands in a gestured example. "On a drip to even the dosage. Coran will be performing the surgery. Since human anatomy is similar enough to the Altean's, he feels comfortable utilizing an interstitial approach. I'm not sure how it is on Earth, but it's simple enough. The risk is in the balance of circulation from bad blood to new, but the quintessence should work it's magic."

"I'm not sure how I feel about relying on magic."

Allura bit her lip and worried on it. "We don't have any other choice. Coran will remove the displaced organs, cleanse the infected areas, and--if the elixir holds, assist the body with the hyperized transition into its final stages."

Shiro pressed his Galran hand to his forehead, allowing the cool metal to abate the ache building between his temples. He did not mention Keith's terrorized idea that the change inhabited not just his body, but his mind. What had he meant? "What's the time frame we're looking at?"

"About three dobasches. Two of your earth hours." They'd reached the bay. Allura took the canister of purified quintessence from Shiro. "This is where you stop."

"Please let me stay." Shiro didn't catch the pleading in his voice, but Allura did.

"Coran was a doctor on the battlefield before my time. Keith is in good hands." She smiled ruefully. "If you wish, and should the red lion let you, sit with her. She is just as scared as you--as all of us--but her connection to Keith is beyond the mortal coil. It may bring you comfort."

"Thank you, princess."

"And Shiro," he paused with one foot past the threshold, one glimpse back at the sickly pale lilac of Keith's face. "Be prepared for any outcome."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the angst really begins *rubs hands together*

Shiro didn't know how, but he fell asleep leaning against the wall across from the medbay into a restless fit of nightmares. He was facing himself between two glass walls, never able to decipher himself or an escape. Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of Keith running through the infinite reflections, but he couldn't reach him.

Shiro woke approxamitely two hours later when Allura tapped him. Dread sank his knees from immediately getting up; judging by her expression, the news wasn't good.

But she said, "He's awake," and guided Shiro into the medical room.

"Where is he?" Shiro rubbed the bruising under his eyes, exhausted beyond comprehension. Everything moved slow in backfiring relief. Allura sighed with her face in her hands. Coran pointed up. 

In the corner of the ceiling, above the gurney, was a Galran Keith clinging to the rafters upside down and hissing with teeth bared. He still looked like himself in a startling amount of ways. The sclera of his eyes had gone yellow but he retained his violet irises, pupils now slitted. His face remained angularly stunning and his hair still dark cascaded in hanging tufts around his scalloped ears, pressed flat against his head in wariness. His skin was decidedly lavender, emitting a soft glow in appearance, and his claws were currently punching holes in the metal beams he clung to.

"He's just re-acclimating." Coran informed him.

"We hope." Allura mumbled through her hands.

"Keith?" Shiro tried, "You're safe here. Just come down."

He reacted to Shiro's voice but stayed where he was. The scene was both comical and disturbing at once. He had given over to animalistic instinct, but pride kept him at an advantageous position to strike at any time.

Shiro made a point of showing his back to him, letting down his guard. "I take it the surgery was a success."

"Didn't have to do much." Coran stroked his mustache. "Once I got the bad stuff out, the quintessence had an extravagant healing affect. He popped right up and has been hanging there like a Frindesian hominy ever since."

"How long is this disorientation going to last?"

"This is new terrority for all of us, Shiro." Allura reminded him. "We can keep him contained in here for now, under surveillance, until he comes to his senses."

"Would you mind giving me a moment with him alone?"

Allura frowned. "I wouldn't recommend it."

"I can fend for myself."

"So can he." Allura shot back, but the two Alteans gave Shiro the room anyway. "We'll be waiting right outside."

Once the door had clicked shut Shiro unleashed a sigh. He leaned against the counter opposite of Keith, keeping his posture unobtrusive. Keith kept his eyes on him, head turned, before he let his feet drop and then let go, crouching onto the bed before crossing his ankles. They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Shiro could see Keith's mind raking through its dark catacombs.

Then he said, "Where am I?"

It was the most devastating three words Shiro could have prepared himself for. And the ones he followed up with hurt just as much. "Do you know who you are?"

Keith examined his hands, fingered the felt of his ears, turned demure. "Galra."

"Remember anything else?" Shiro asked. Keith seemed to trust him instinctively, so the memories had to be there somewhere. 

"Voltron." Keith was trying out the sound around his fangs. "Has it been assembled?"

Anything else? Shiro resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake. He remained calm. "Your name?"

"What is it?" Keith locked eyes with him. "Is this the Castle of Lions? Who are you?" His gaze drifted to Shiro's Galran prosthetic and he grimaced.

"I'm Shiro, the black lion's pilot. Your name is Keith. I think you're just confused. What's the last thing you can recall?"

"Everything is jumbled." Keith admitted. "I remember going to earth, but I had to leave before I found the blue lion." He opened his mouth to speak again, took a great breath, and began. It was all wrong. Too complex to be fabricated. Sequences like sitting ducks waiting to be shot down. Implanted and left to fester. Were they real?

He ended with, staring at his Galra arm, "Are you my handler?"

Shiro excused himself from the room, Keith watching him go with a stranger's eyes, alert and on edge.

Coran and Allura were waiting.

"Walk with me." They went towards the bridge. "Keith's memories are... not his." He didn't know how to start gathering the bedlam just unloaded to him. "He was talking about a sabotage mission against the Galra empire before Voltron was even reawakened. He'd been with the troops orbitting earth without breaching some sort of quarantine, and it was under his orders to do so. The way he spoke was so unconcerned about the matter. He seemed convinced I was working for him."

Allura halted in her tracks with a glaring, "What!?"

"I don't know." Shiro massaged the bridge of his nose. "He also mentioned being a member of the Blade. Like he's some sort of sleeper agent. He told me he was the key to a coup that went astray. He even said he had royal blood. I don't know what to make of any of this..."

"This is extremely concerning." They'd made it to the bridge where the other paladins were gathered after being summoned. Once they'd been debriefed on the matter Hunk raised his hand and asked what they'd all been thinking.

"Then whose memories are they?"

Pidge had been quiet the entire time. "What if they're his mother's?" Shiro had considered that possibility, but he was surprised Pidge came to the same conclusion. She went on, "We've talked about our families before. Y'know, since both are missing. But Keith never mentioned his mother. He has a luxite blade only Marmorans have. Awakening it seemed to trigger his transition. I'm just putting two and two together here..."

"But why would he get her memories?" Lance exclaimed.

Allura held her chin in deep thought. "Perhaps his mother made a mental copy of herself in Keith's genes, so that should he awaken his Galran DNA he would know who she was. Much like the A.I. memory bank of my father."

"Something must have gone wrong, then, since his memories are out?" Hunk suggested.

"The Galra do have genetic imprinting." Coran agreed with Allura. "Generally, it's used in high class families to continue honorable adherence. I highly doubt Keith's mother would have stooped to such methods unless she was trying to keep him from turning at all. The memories were like a padlock and we had to break it open in order to save him."

"She probably hoped he'd live a normal human life." Shiro wanted to believe. "Do you think it was a countermeasure for the blade?"

Hunk blinked, perturbed. "So... the person in medical isn't really Keith right now, but his mom?"

"Keith's still in there." Shiro reassured them, but mostly himself. "It might take awhile to run through his mother's memories. He... or she might be able to give us good hindsight."

"I'm still hung up on the royalty thing. Does that mean Keith's related to Zarkon?"

"There is a possibility." Allura rolled her eyes. "For now, let's give Keith rest. We'll see if the red lion accepts him tomorrow and go from there."

* * *

  
The red lion accepted Keith like nothing had changed, though he was decidedly different while still being the same.

He talked a lot more. "The specs on these lions are outdated. What century is it? Huh?" He'd say to Coran, "When can I meet with the Blade of Marmora? We are burning time." He'd demand of Allura. "What about rerouting the spires for a larger radar sector?" Pidge, disallusioned by his strange new talent for meddling. "Can you make more of those pizza rolls?" To Hunk.

"For someone with a smaller stomach, he eats twice as much."

"Galran metabolism." Coran dully reminded him.

Keith was specifically wary around Shiro, however, often squinting yellowed eyes at him whenever he passed by. "How'd you come about that arm?"

Shiro didn't want to answer him so he chose to say nothing, returning the empty stare.

As the days passed Keith became more like himself, but something integral was missing. "I remember now," he'd say, "We've known each other since the Garrison." But whatever memories came to him, it was as if he looked at them through bubbled glass.

Keith was never better in the seat of the red lion, however. His focus, which had always been on point, was unwavering. But his lack of humiltiy--and of mercy--strengthened. The amount of kills he had under his belt went from accidental to questionably purposed.

It was Lance who brought it up first. "So, like, I get the amnesia thing. But why's he gotta be such an ass all the time?"

Pidge had sighed. "Do elaborate, Lance."

He'd meant to. "If I walk in on him grooming himself or whatever it is he does, I don't know, he gets pissed. Always telling me to give blue a good scrub down, too. And he hardly listens to you, Shiro! How is that okay? You can't trust a right hand man if he's not there to be your right hand, am I right? Keith's acting like he's at his midlife crises or some shit. How are you all carrying on. Am I the only one suffering?"

But his votality proved useful. "He's in training with the Blade. These are big changes, Lance, be patient."

"Yeah, Lance, shit happens." Pidge rolled her eyes, but really she hadn't been listening--too focused on her Galra tracker, in its beta stages.

Lance threw up his arms. The truth was, he was just voicing the tacit concerns of everyone on the ship. "It's been _two months_ , Shiro!"

* * *

  
When the Blade of Marmora had seen him, Kolivan immediately recognized Keith by his disposition alone. His smell, too, he'd informed Shiro.

"Unyiva?"

"Yes, she was one of our inside men. We lost touch with her when she was promoted to commander and given her own fleet. Her assignment was your planet, Earth."

"What can you tell me about her?"

Kolivan watched the screens where Keith trained with another Blade member. "Incredible wit. She was of blood in the Unyan line, a distant cousin of Zarkon."

"So, like an aristocrat."

"If that is what your people refer to as royal family, then yes." Kolivan agreed.

"What prompted her to change sides?"

"That I do not know. She came to us as a lieutenant, underwent the trials, and pledged her fealty at a young age. Many of us were suspicious of her agenda, but she proved loyal. Her last mission was to sabotage the search for the lions. If she located one, she was to bring it to us."

It lined up with Keith's tale. "What can you tell me about genetic imprinting?"

Kolivan scowled. "A means to an end. It is used when a will is not agreed upon by the onliving party. Even now it is a risky procedure that can corrupt the mind. This is what you're seeing in Keith." He turned his attention directly to Shiro. "Given his unique genetic makeup, we cannot say for sure that the damage is done. We will continue to oversee his training here, but be prepared to take action should he--"

"Should he what?" Shiro failed to reign in the quip. "Lose his mind?"

"I was simply referring to his memories. I can see there was a bond between you two that has been severed. In this case, it might be possible to render it. However I must advise you to caution, Shiro." Kolivan crossed his arms, "There is a high likelihood the Keith you knew will not return. I am not a philsopher and it is not my place to question the seat of the soul; this is up to you to decide. The boy himself will never truly know what has gone awire unless you tell him yourself."

Shiro returned to the castle mumly defeated. When he stepped out of the black lion, Keith was waiting for him, helmet at his hip.

He looked so much the same, just under a different shade of natural light. His vulpine ears perked when Shiro raised a brow.

"I've got a report." Keith began, easing into his pace as they wound up the hangar stairs. Shiro had instructed Keith to brief him whenever he remembered something. "Well, a lot has been coming back to me in dreams and flashes. It's hard to keep up with it all since it's just there."

"Go on." Shiro resisted the urge to rub at his scar.

"There was the first time we formed Voltron on Arus. And when we rescued you after you crashed on earth. When we were spit out of warp onto a bad planet, too. I was..." Keith looked down at his hands. "I looked more like you."

"You're only half Galra." The coldness in his words didn't fall on him alone. Keith stuttered a step, but otherwise didn't let his discomfort show.

"I just feel like I've always been this way."

He'd explained to Keith everything they understood about what he was experiencing. That was why he was tasked with telling Shiro whatever he could recall, but it was becoming more painful the more he did. "Is that a good thing?"

Keith did stop this time and Shiro pivoted, pausing to hear his answer. The look in Keith's eyes for the moment he held Shiro's gaze was a lick of lightning, angry and familiar. "You tell me, Shiro." He said, and all at once Shiro knew exactly who was talking to him. "I remember it all. It was easier at first to pretend I didn't. Because while they're my memories, I don't feel like I've lived them. Maybe it's cuz my body has changed. And I've got some of my mom's in here too." His helmet was lose in his grip at his side, staring hard at the floor with a guilty conscience. "It was kinda freeing at first, I was a new person. But I can tell that's not..."

"Not what, Keith?" Shiro softened his voice, but it still made him flinch.

"That's not living up to expectations." _That's not good enough for you._

Shiro didn't have time to pick up the shattering pieces of whatever heart he might have had in that moment. Right now, he had to be the voice of reason. "It has nothing to do with what we expect of you." He assured, "Give it time and you'll adjust."

That made Keith's temper flare. "For you or for me?" He'd raised his shackles but kept his anger riveted at his feet. Something wouldn't let him face Shiro honestly. A powerful force pushing his head down in doubt and despair. "Despite everything I've said, I'm still myself."

"What's your point, Keith?"

"I was so afraid of what might change. It wasn't about dying or being Galra, or losing the fight. None of that mattered. This is what I was afraid of." He finally looked at Shiro, eyes misty with furious sadness. 

The connection had been broken. Was there any way to tie it back together? The floodgates opened before Shiro could stop them, but he mitigated the best he could. "You're just confused. There's a lot going on in your mind right now. This is a dangerous time for you to be considering anything other than sorting yourself out. I'm glad you're alive and safe, trust me, but this conversation? We're not having it right now."

"You know I trust you." His words struck home, so old and well-worn. "I don't think you trust me."

"I don't. Not right now." Shiro was being honest. "But I want to, and I will."

Keith huffed out a bitter sigh. "Would it have been better if I didn't remember? I'm never going to be who you're waiting for."

There it was. The elephant in the room. It took a lot of self-control not to lash out. "It would have been worse."

"I see." Keith didn't meet his gaze again, and he wouldn't for quite some time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! v.v


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